Through the Rain
by L. Catherine Dion
Summary: Crews and Reese. Sometimes the past won't stay there and a case isn't just a case. Crews/Reese & glimpses of Reese/Tidwell
1. Intro: It's All Up

Crews was standing in the rain, face tilted up in it. She stood there for awhile, her hood up, rain spattering off the LAPD issue slicker, a soft frown on her face as she stared at him. She let out a noisy breath, looked heavenward for a half second, and moved.

"Crews," she said, carefully stepping up to his side to squint out over the rain soaked vista. He didn't move. "_Crews_, you with me?" Nothing. She took a sopping wet handful of his shirt.

He came back.

"Reese?"

"Yeah," she said, pointing. "Crime scene is being washed away."

"It's not here," he said absently, staring at her hand which still had his shirt and pulled her in close so she could see what he meant. She blinked. "Look up, Reese."

She looked up, frowned, and her hood fell back from her face. Crews's voice was soft and she still was definitely pressed up against him. He was warm despite the rain, though he was shivering lightly. He didn't care, or was just ignoring it, and she had to lean into him to keep her footing. He shifted just a little, leaning his frame back and tilting her in the process so she'd _get it_. And then she did. She saw it, the space where their vic had fallen through.

"The crime scene isn't really here," he murmured.


	2. The Woman In the Tree

Reese knelt by the body, her wet hair tangled as she grimaced and peered at the position and the crater it had made. It must have been raining pretty damn hard when he fell. Crews was walking around, picking through the brush like he'd lost his keys as she carefully sifted through pockets.

Wallet.

That ought to help.

"Wallet!" Crews said triumphantly and dangled something damp and pink in front of her face. She looked up at him and they both looked from wallet to wallet. "Two wallets. Two wallets, two people, or one person who likes wallets." Crews blinked. It was still raining hard enough that it dripped off the ends of her hair and down her cheeks and she frowned.

Two wallets, two bodies.

"Two bodies," Crews said absently, swinging his flashlight around. It hit her in the eyes and she winced as she rose and stumbled away.

"Jesus, Crews," she growled. "Watch where you're pointing that." He mumbled something that might have been an apology if she'd been listening, but she'd stopped and was staring at a tree. "_Crews._"

Waxy, white gleam, a flash of bright red.

She had her gun out as she squinted through the rain. There was a small dark haired woman leaning up against the tree. No. She was tied to it. Reese didn't feel the rain anymore, didn't hear the voices of the crime scene unit guys, didn't even hear Crews humming. The woman was tied in place with red ribbon. Red around her legs, her arms, her shoulders, fashioned in place. _Posed_ in pretty pink heels and a pale pink sheath dress, her lipstick perfect, but her mascara running in the rain. Reese stood there, silently, absorbing the details.

She could feel Crews behind her, conscious of the space between them.

"She looks like you," he said softly. Reese froze. He was right, she did. Dark hair, brown skin, the right sort of nose, full lips, close match to the cheekbones. "You don't have a twin, do you?"

"No," she snapped. "I don't have a twin."

"Everyone has a twin," Crews said as she took a half step back into him. "Somewhere in the world, there's someone who isn't me but looks like me. He's probably not a cop. Probably never been to jail. Maybe he bakes pies...blueberry pies. Have you ever had a good blueberry pie, Reese?"

She didn't answer him.

"Reese?"

She was still studying the woman who looked like her. The jawline, the fingers, her _shape_...the cut of her hair. _Stop it_. _You stop it. It's a victim._ She stepped forward and shoved the uneasiness down and ignored the rain as it slid down her spine. Reese moved in to get a closer look, her fingers brushing the fabric, looking for something to make sense. Something normal.

"Alexandra," Crews said from behind her. "Her name is Alexandra Bayat. Thirty. Works...in New York." She realized he was going through the wallet. "Four hundred and...ten dollars in cash. Lots of change. _Lots_ of credit cards."

"_Shit_," Reese snapped as a sharp pain stabbed through her thumb. She jerked her thumb back and was rewarded by the sight of her blood beading off the end of a straight pin. The fucking thing had gone straight through her glove and into the pad of her thumb. Great, just what she needed today. Crews was suddenly _there_, his warm fingers around her wrist even as she tried to yank it away from him with a softly muttered _I'm fine_.

"Let me see, Reese," he said in such a quiet voice that she reluctantly let him inspect it, her jaw tight. Crews slid the glove off and held his light over it for a moment.

"It's just a stick," she said, scowling. "I know, I'ma have to get tested for the works. It's nothing. Lemme go." He frowned and didn't, instead, he squeezed it. "Crews, what the f--" She stopped and watched what looked like a fine splinter work its way out. He carefully took an evidence tube out of his pocket and she was suddenly grateful his broad frame had been blocking most of the rain as he skimmed it over her thumb to collect the fragment.

She stared down at her thumb and then back at him, scowled and wrenched herself away, heading back to the car. Crews looked after her, the punctured glove still in hand as he capped the tube. He cocked his head at the woman tied to the tree.

"It bothers her that you look like her," he said quietly and leaned in to whisper. "It bothers me, too."


	3. Momentary Things, She Said

Reese peeled out and slammed her car into gear almost before Crews had finished buckling up. Almost before he shut the door, too. She cranked her iPod to a random song just for the noise and he licked his lips, watching her out of the corner of his eye. Rain was sheeting against the window shield and the wipers flick-flashed, sweeping water away ineffectually as they flew down the road back toward Los Angeles proper.

She'd wiped her face blank, tucked herself away from him, and he didn't like it.

He turned the music off.

"Reese, talk to me," he said as carefully as possible, pushing his luck into the red (and he knew it). She turned the music back on. He turned it off. She hit the accelerator. He tilted his chin and watched her white knuckle the steering wheel. "Reese," he whispered. "She's not you. She would never have been you."

"_I_ _know that_," she hissed. The next moment, she jerked the car to the side of the road and snapped on the hazard lights and turned the engine off before she bolted out the door to pace. Crews sat there for a moment, surprised, and then got out of the car. She stood in the headlights, scowling, all sharp teeth and claws. It was better than the blankness.

Anything was better than that.

He was getting soaked all over again, but didn't care. His partner was having a moment, a very, very bad moment. Crews stood there in silence, his eyes fixed on her. This wasn't Southern California rain. This was Pelican Bay rain. It was nasty and cold and made your clothes stick to you in the most uncomfortable ways, it stabbed needles into your skin as it pelted down _as some fucker tried to shove your face through the fence and the other guy came up behind you, but you couldn't twist fast enough and you knew pain when that shiv ripped into your si-- _Something cold brushed his hand and his chin jerked up, he blinked in momentary confusion.

Reese was handing him the keys.

He caught her fingers, frowning, and she didn't pull away.

"Hey, Reese," he said softly. "You with me?"

"I'm with you," she whispered. "Drive, Crews. Just fucking drive."

"Is it because she's dead?" he asked. Reese moved to pull away but he pulled her back, carefully caging her in, his eyes serious, his expression steady. "You know you'll just go home, not sleep, and wind up going into the station at four in the morning because you've been thinking about it. You'll have the coffee on all night until it's scorched and the coffee pot is too hot to handle and you'll jus--"

Her fingers against his lips stopped him cold and his eyes widened as she leaned up against him. His hand found her lower back and she twitched.

"Shut up," Reese said wearily, "and drive. No questions, no talking, no Zen. No music."

"You're not okay," he said around her fingers and she just blinked at him, shivering and wet with eyes so dark he could fall through them and come out in China. Because that's where all holes went to, right? China. His mom always said stuff about digging holes to China and he-- Her weight shifted as he stared down at her. "Reese? You should get back in the car and let me..."

"Let you what?" she murmured, still trying to block the words that fell between her fingers.

"Let me help," he said simply.

"What if I don't want your help?" Reese snapped, but it was halfhearted and her fingers fell away.

"You gave me the keys," he whispered against her hair. "I'm supposed to help. In fact," he smiled as she just barely leaned into him, "I think I'm obligated."

"That's more damned Zen," she muttered and snorted as he put his arms around her and walked them back to the passenger side. "Crews?"

"Mmm?" he said softly, tucking her back into the seat. His lips accidentally brushed her forehead as he withdrew and they both froze. He frowned and tipped her chin up so she was looking at him.

"I don't. I don't feel very well," she finally said.

"I know," Crews said. "I'll drive, you sleep." All he got back was a soft grumble and he smiled. He didn't mind being wet. He'd been worse, so he turned on the heat in the car and started driving. Before they were on the road he pulled his suit jacket, which he'd left in the car, up over Reese as she huddled into the window. She curled into it and he frowned lightly as his eyes flicked between her and the road.

He didn't like this case at all.


	4. Dragonfish

_Reese dreamed._

_There was nothing but water all around her. Water and thousands of koi fish. She watched a black one swim away from the school, followed it through thousands of streams until it reached a still pool high in the mountains and jumped into the air. In that instant, it changed. The black koi turned into a dragon and roared until the stars fell from the sky, leaving it impossibly dark. Its scales were pearly black, reflecting in the rippling water, glowing in the sun. They were impenetrable, thick, and the long column of its neck bristled with spines. Its wings were koi-like fans, touched with gold-red at the tips and its eyes were blazing amber. The dragon roared and its teeth were jagged, glinting like needle-sharp shards of glass and it shook the world._

_She watched the sun go dim, then go out, and the dragon's head rose. Everything rumbled, the sky cracked with lightning and boiled with thunder, and the dragon coiled around itself, tail lashing before it let loose a terrific ball of fire._

_There was nothing but flame and the lotus flowers burst, popping open, hissing and spitting as they caught fire._

_And then there was nothing but sun._

She woke sharply, breathless and disoriented, but warm. Very warm. Reese bolted upright and regretted it immediately as her head spun. _Shit!_ Her fingers dug against a dark blue blanket, curling into fine, soft fabric as she rubbed at her throbbing head. There was a soft creak and her chin shot up.

Crews had perched against the coffee table, a cup of coffee in hand, his eyes drifting over her messy hair and dazed expression. Wordlessly, he pressed the cup into her hands. Reese stared down at it.

"It's just coffee," he said quietly. There was silence for awhile as she frowned into the creamed and sugared cup. He'd fixed it just the way she liked it when she was stressed out; creamy and sweet. She was particular and her coffee reflected her mood. Black was a bad day. Black but sweet was normal. With stress came cream. "I told the Captain we'd roll in a little late."

"_Mm_," was all she said for a moment, watched him reach for his own mug and then blinked a few times. "Why is there a dancing apple on that mug?" It was enough to make her snort with amusement.

"Sometimes," Crews said, leaning in slightly with a soft grin on his face, "_sometimes_ even an apple needs to get up and cha-cha. I liked the sentiment."

Crews pulled back and she watched the corners of his eyes crinkle. It made him look younger when he smiled like that. The ice blue faded to something softer, maybe cerulean or cornflower, something that didn't show the cracked and battered man beneath. Her eyebrow twitched lightly as she studied him through the thick fog that reminded her of a hangover.

The coffee would kill it.

Her eyes were pulled to a pile of clothes and she almost dropped her mug. He looked completely innocent and she frowned and her hands went down to her chest. A sweater. There was a moment where she went completely still.

"Did you..." she began very softly.

"I didn't see a thing," he murmured. "I had Davis drop by, I figured you would..." Even with her eyes closed she could feel him staring. "You were chilled and shivering, Reese. I called Davis, went and bought extra blankets, and by the time I got back, you were in the sweater."

She heard him swallow and take another sip of coffee.

"I did your laundry, followed the labels. They're good as new. Better than new." There was a long, long pause where neither of them spoke. "Reese. Say something. Anything. I was very, very careful."

More silence.

"Reese?" he mumbled.

"I need a shower," she finally said, tipping back the last of her coffee in a long swallow. Her eyes flicked open and his were slightly wide. _He looks like he needs a shower, too._ She frowned and he pointed up the stairs.

"You'll want the big one. At the back of the hallway. Straight back, can't miss it. There's extra towels. They're the blue ones," his voice dipped lower for a second and she thought he muttered _with the fish_ and she gave him a sharp but throughly confused look. "Davis brought you...stuff, too. It's all up there." His words were quick, like he didn't want to think about them (_like he didn't want to think about her in his shower, wait, she didn't want to think about _herself_ in his shower_) and his smile was a brief flash. "You want me to show you back there?"

"It's a big house," she said very quietly.

"It's a big house," he parroted and she just arched her eyebrows as she shoved herself free of the blankets and stood. _Too fast_, she reached out and felt him catch her elbow while the dizziness settled. "Reese?" he asked gently.

"Dizzy," she growled. "Shower will help, then work."

He was quiet as they took the stairs. She didn't pull away from him, tried to see the humor in Crews leading her past his massive (_God, it was huge_) bed and back around the corner to the shower (_Was that black marble? Jesus Christ, it was like...the size of her fucking kitchen_). He murmured quiet things, pointing out that if she wanted a bath-- Her brain short circuited for a long moment and she missed whatever the hell he was saying.

Oh please. The bathtub was on claw feet and could seat a small army of chil-- _Christ_. She carefully released him and shoved him out with a few pointed words that made him sulk a little. Reese blinked at the tub again.

_God_, the water was so hot her skin prickled, and she didn't have to wait for it to heat. It just _was_ like one of his Zen quips. Just be, or some bullshit. Well, the water _was_. Reese resisted spending more time than necessary in there and reached for a towel.

He _hadn't_.

There were huge japanese print koi all over the incredibly plush, _insanely_ absorbent blue towels. Her jaw snapped shut and she dripped over the bath mat for almost a solid minute. This was completely ridiculous. Reese quickly dried off and folded the towel, then hung it to dry, giving it another glance (brows furrowed) before pulling on her clothes. At least her boots hadn't been ruined.

Once she was suitably back together, though her head was still screwed up and fuzzy, she grabbed her gun, badge, and ID from where they sat on the coffee table and went to snag more coffee. Reese found him in the kitchen licking his fingers, an orange peel carefully peeled into a spiral, the various segments lining the counter like soldiers. He paused almost guiltily as she skirted around him to get at the coffee.

"Orange?" he asked, chin tilted and eyes practically sparkling. She gave him a look. Crews's eyebrows rose. "It'll make you feel better. They have lots of Vitamin C." Reese frowned and started to snap at him, but he popped a slice into her mouth before she could get anything out.

She glowered at him balefully and he beamed.

_Fuck you, Crews_, Reese thought as she finished the slice. It was so juicy she had to catch it with a finger as it dribbled over her chin. Her eyes never left his face. For awhile they were just frozen until her cell phone rang. She picked it up, still licking juice from her lips, listened, sighed, and hung up.

"We have a case to work," she said in a quiet voice.

He grinned and held up the keys.

"It made you feel better, didn't it?" he asked.

Reese ignored him.


	5. Arrowbear Invitational

Crews watched Tidwell talk to Reese from his desk. The blinds weren't drawn, so he figured he could do that without having either one of them _care_. Besides, the door was closed. Reese wasn't still, she moved, pacing back and forth as she listened Tidwell talk. He caught her by the wrist and she stilled.

Quiet words.

Louder ones, too, judging by the set of her shoulders. Reese started pacing again, a hand thrown carelessly. Tidwell glanced up and his eyes found Crews's, they held for a second too long. He didn't exactly like that expression, but he sighed and went back to work. Some things were not his business. The next time he looked up, the blinds were closed.

He could hear the rise and fall of voices, though, Tidwell's timbre had a distinctly urgent tone to it. Reese's was smooth and cut through all other noise, a sound he'd know just about anywhere. Crews closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, feet up on his desk as he isolated _other_ sounds. The high whine of the copy machine spitting collated copies of something out (the _ka-chunk_ as the stapler came down fifty-five times), two detectives grumbling about their case on his left (the dead baby girl in a Ford Explorer, Crews hadn't liked that), Bobby at the coffee machine ribbing Jaurez in boyish good humor, Seever was talking about her fifteen year plan with someone in the hall (he could hear her familiar voice, serious, clipped), the rush of air as the mail cart passed (_Hello Bob_. _Hello, Detective Crews, sorry...no fruit_. _That's too bad! Maybe next time. Yeah, maybe._), the thunk of a box against Reese's desk.

Nothing for him.

He was vaguely disappointed.

The murmur of Reese's voice cut off abruptly and he could feel her coming back. It was in the way the air moved and the door opened, _rush, rush, rush_. His eyes opened, too, and he caught her face (it was pale, she wasn't usually that pale) as the sunlight hit it. For a second there was something akin to anger in her expression as she turned back to snap at Tidwell. He wondered if it was part of the front and studied the way she moved.

It was stiff, but not in her usual way, and he wasn't surprised when she scowled at him. She looked tired. Tired and like she wanted to pick a fight with him. He didn't feel like fighting. Crews wasn't sure she really wanted to fight either and took his feet down as she worked the box open. Pain. That's what it was. She was hurting.

And he wasn't allowed to ask, so he didn't.

"There anything good in there? Cupcakes? Fruit? A thank you present from those kids from last week?" he asked, peering nosily just because he knew it would annoy her (_sometimes that actually worked when she was grumpy_). She didn't move and he watched her expression shift as she inspected the contents. Her eyes closed.

"Crews," she said in a weary voice, "I think we're being given a hand in this investigation. And directions." He watched her fish for gloves and moved around the desk, all seriousness again. Whatever gleam of humor had been there was gone.

He peered into the box.

Wrapped in butcher paper was a human hand. A nice one. The nails were pretty pink, it was very clean, and it held a card. He went very still as his eyes moved over the block print.

_Detective Reese,_

_Do you remember Arrowbear Lake? The docks in the summer? I do. Come take a walk with me. You may find it particularly enlightening. Be there at sundown tonight._

_~ M. _

"Not a thank you present from those kids," he said in a tight, cold voice. "Not unless that was a class of miniature future sociopaths." He turned to glance at his partner only to find her shaking. Crews opened his mouth to say _something_ and watched her turn wordlessly. His soft query was met with silence and he watched her walk out of the bullpen, her frame tight with tension.

Crews pulled open his desk drawer and began to peel an orange, his eyes following his partner until she was gone.


	6. Papercuts

_Arrowbear Lake_.

Reese stood in front of the mirror, trying to catch her breath, palms flat against the counter for a moment as she stared at the running tap. _Breathe_. She'd locked the door behind her (safer, it was _safer_) and just took a long moment to take a few breaths, to pull herself together.

_Arrowbear Lake._

Jesus.

Reese took a handful of cold water and splashed it on her face. It didn't help the buzzing in the back of her skull (_want a drink, I want it, I want a drink, c'mon, gotta-- Fuck you. Fuck you right to Hell._) and she swallowed hard, fingers white knuckling the counter as her heart raced.

_It's okay. It's not now. That's blank. There's nothing there. Nothing at all. Nothing happened at Arrowbear._

Her fingers brushed over her badge, touched her gun, settled on her cuffs, and she pulled shaking fingers through her hair. _Breathe._

_Fuck_ this.

Someone knocked at the door and she jammed the water off before unlocking it. Crews was leaning against the opposite wall when she barreled out and fell into step beside her. She ignored the way he was practically vibrating with concern.

"Where are we in contacting the Bayat woman's family?" she snapped.

"No luck," he said, easing in next to her as they moved into the elevator. "We gonna talk about the hand?"

"No," Reese said softly.

"You gonna go down there?" She glowered at him. "I could go down there with you, Reese. We could check this out. It's our guy. He wants us to go down there, right? I think we should go down there. Maybe take him some fruit. Peaches. I bet he'd like peaches."

"We're stopping off so I can get blood drawn," Reese said, ignoring the fruit and the offer, "And then _you_ are going to track down that Marshall kid who did that mud faceplant." She paused. "I'm driving myself home."

Reese wasn't going home.

"Are you?" he asked very softly. Her jaw tightened and she knew he saw it. His fingers flashed out and he pulled the emergency stop button and hung there like he couldn't believe he'd done it, either. They ground to a halt and jerked heavily. "Reese," it was a whisper, now, almost a hiss as she caught herself against him, "Reese, Reese, _Reese_." She wanted to hiss and growl and bite, but she just stayed there, breath sharp against his very fucking expensive blue tie (_blueberries, he had blueberries on his tie_). "Don't you go where I can't follow."

He didn't touch her.

"I'm going home," she whispered, lips brushing the silk of his tie. "_Home_."

He was silent and she knew his eyes were closed, could hear him taking deep breaths, finding his Zen. Keeping it there. It wasn't a lie, Reese _was_ going home, she just-- She couldn't let him near Arrowbear. Couldn't let him in there. Just couldn't, not until she knew what was there. This wasn't work, this was _her_. Reese felt his chin, his cheek, brush her hair and pulled away roughly before slamming the emergency stop back into place.

They kept falling, and the fourth floor turned into the third, slid and pinged to the second. They were both silent and her boots rang sharp and angry as she walked down the hall. His fingers brushed hers just once and his long legs kept stride easily. Reese breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't walk into the lab with her. It took a few minutes for the tech to get set up and she watched the tubes fill with dark red blood, watched them sit there until she had a cotton ball, then a Band Aid, and that was it.

All done.

"You get a sucker?" Crews asked brightly, popping his head in as she pulled her jacket back on.

"No," she said shortly and slid off the table.

"Not even a tootsie pop?"

"No, Crews," she said, rolling her eyes, as she pushed past him into the hall. _I'm not five_. Her boots fell with less agitation, but she knew it came off her in waves. Crews followed her, stepping in her steps absently, weaving himself into the spaces she left behind. She stopped at the door to the garage and frowned at him as his fingers brushed her arm like he could stop her.

"Reese," he began and fell silent. She knew what he was asking, drew a breath, took out her phone and started punching keys. His phone buzzed in his jacket and she watched the smile settle back into his eyes.

They were okay. _We're always okay._

She left him standing there, his lanky frame a shadow as the florescent light flickered in the stairwell. He'd know when to show. If she needed him, he'd know. Reese took a breath and climbed into her car. Whatever was waiting for her in Arrowbear, it was something they could deal with.

By the time she pulled out of the garage what sun they'd had was hidden in thick, growing thunderheads. It didn't start raining until she was just outside of the city limits. Her phone buzzed once and she glanced down at it as thunder rumbled.

_Crews: Look in your glove compartment, Reese._

She frowned and popped it open. There was a perfectly ripe peach sitting next to her back up weapon. Her phone buzzed again.

_Crews: You never know when you'll need some fruit._


	7. The Ripple Effect

Crews stared at his phone and the address Reese had given him (it sat there black text on light gray, taunting him), breathing in as he heard the hard spatter of rain start up. It drummed off the windows, cut off the sun. _Breathe. In. Hold it. Breathe out. You know where you are and it's not there. This is just rain, it doesn't mean prison, it's rain, plain rain not yard rain, not the bad rain, it's just rain, Charlie. Eat your orange._

He didn't want to eat his orange. Sorta wanted Reese to eat his orange because it'd mean she was _here_ and not _there_ and she could make faces like she hated it. But she didn't. She could have all his oranges. He'd let her. Bags and bags and bags of them. He stared at the phone and Googled directions just so he'd have them. He didn't like the way his stomach tightened.

_Shhh. She's not gone. She's right here._

Crews watched the real-time GPS (_he was connected to her, still connected_) on his phone track hers and felt a little better. She was pulling off onto some side road. He blinked and remembered to breathe. It was going to be fine. She wasn't missing and he had Marshall to track down.

Well, Marshall's family.

He reached for the phone and started dialing as a huge crack of thunder rattled the windows. Someone shrieked. Or yelled. Tidwell was staring out the window warily. Crews wondered if he'd screamed like a little girl. It _might_ have made him smile just a little.

Ah, seventeen phone calls later and he had what he was looking for. He'd found Marshall Wallace's mother. Crews wanted Reese to do the talking, but he went and spoke with the woman, sat in her front room, murmured quietly, and sipped black tea. He found out that Wallace and Bayat were dating long distance. Connected by invisible electronic wires. Bayat was moving to Los Angeles after a six year stint as a helicopter pilot. Civilian. Good money flying for rich people. Wallace had been dating her for four years, planned to propose. The ring was sitting on his desk at home.

Underneath the mud and grime, he was a redhead. Very Irish, looked like his mother. Gray eyes, long thin face, soft hands. _He_ owned race horses, independently wealthy, with a degree in equine veterinary medicine. Crews thought for awhile.

Redheads and Reese dopplegangers. Maybe that was _them_. It could be them. Bayat had been originally hired by Wallace and they were partners.

He sat in his car and closed his eyes for awhile, quiet, thinking. No Zen tape today, just thoughts and the rain bouncing off the car. It had been planned, but _why_ had it been planned? Why was always the question. He tracked down her helicopter, found the crime scene, fussed with his tie, and worried about why she hadn't called.

Wanted to know why her car was stopped, now, and shoved down the slippery cold feeling that had started working its way up his spine. He worked connections, peeling back the case in layers, got Ted to trace money transfers because it was faster. Ate three apples and a fig.

Paced.

Breathed.

Got wet.

And then he got a hit on a dead man.

Dead men weren't supposed to be in helicopters, they were supposed to be _dead_. Crews sat at his desk again and worried on raspberries (_Reese would like raspberries, they were tart and sweet at the same time_). Tidwell paced, too, and yelled when he found out Reese wasn't where he'd sent her. Threw his shoe, even, and broke a lamp.

Crews helped him clean up the pieces and got himself yelled at again, but he didn't mind. He wanted Reese to call, he wanted his insides warm again, and he really wanted Tidwell to stop giving him that look. That look was the one that said this was his fault, but Tidwell wasn't that stupid. You couldn't box Reese in. She'd break down the wall, but Tidwell needed someone to be pissed off at and Crews was there. So, there it was.

Well, there it _wasn't_.

The dead man was still dead and he hadn't found the walking dead man quite yet. No bead on him, like the man was a ghost. There weren't ghosts. People were alive or dead, not dead or ghosts. He got sidetracked by thoughts of Lonnie Garth being a ghost, and of Arthur Tins waiting for him somewhere. He pulled himself back with a sweet, tangy nectarine.

What was missing? There was something. It wasn't really about who the victims were, but what they were. Them. Tied up in each others lives, tied together. It was about connections. In order to help Reese, he had to find the connections. He began at the beginning and touched the files that he wasn't supposed to touch.

Hers.

And he kept breathing, kept moving, because that's what she'd told him to do. There were neat piles on his desk. Little Reese piles. Little piles of his partner's life. She'd been a runner and a swimmer in high school, ice skated professionally from nine to twelve, and he wondered if she was going to shoot him for uncovering the fact that she'd been a dancer. An ice dancer. It was when she was twelve when things stopped. There was nothing for a year. It was like she simply stopped.

_Reese, why did you stop? Where did you go?_ He pushed a few papers around and Rayborn's name came up. Crews sighed and let his head rest in his hands for awhile. Reese's father, Jack, was friends with Rayborn. Jack had been tied to Rayborn who'd been tied to Crews and Crews was tied to Reese. His Reese.

_Connected_.

What else had Rayborn been connected to? Another Roman? Something worse than Roman? Or maybe it was just all tied back to the Russian Mob. Maybe that's what it was. Crews got up and went for more coffee (had so much he was jiggling, had to pee, did so, paced, willing the answers to come to him, bought a cup of mango, gnawed and sucked on them and tried not to tense).

"Come on, Reese," he growled under his breath, watching the storm get darker. "Come on. Call me." But she didn't call. It wasn't time yet. He sifted through Zen in his head and went though two apples on his way to Rayborn's.

"What's at Arrowbear Lake?" Crews said, watching Rayborn as he adjusted his crisp white coat and black silk shirt and crossed his legs. He had the satisfaction of watching the man's face drain of blood just for an instant.

"Where'd you dig that up from, kiddo?" Rayborn asked, tilting his chin as he raised his eyebrows. "Been a long, long time since I heard that name."

"Reese," he said simply. "I need to know why she's down there and why she's so rattled."

Rayborn smiled. Crews didn't like that, either. He never liked it when Rayborn smiled. It meant there were worse storms coming, worse storms than they'd seen. It meant he wished he'd followed her there, that he was back up. Her back up. It meant Tidwell was right.

It was his fault.

"Russia," Rayborn said softly. "Russia was there, for a little while, and there was a man there, too, you might remember our friend Roman. He was supposed to be in prison, but he wasn't. He was here. In 1995, Roman Nevikov was twenty-eight years old. He was also at Arrowbear Lake because that is where everything happened."

The Bank of L.A. shootout, his partner had been twelve, started drinking that year, was gone for an entire year afterward, and his partner had been at Arrowbear Lake when Roman was there. _Roman_, who'd taken her away, who'd locked her up, who Reese wouldn't talk about. Roman who knew too much about her. That Roman, the Roman he'd killed. It was all connected and their killer had been talking to them the entire time.

And Jack Reese had given all his money to charity.

_Why did you do that, Jack? What happened at Arrowbear? What happened to Dani?_


	8. Creation Point

She was cold.

Her fingers were ice on the steering wheel, her breath caught in her throat, and as she felt the the wet gravel crunch under her tires, she had to blink a few times to clear her vision. They hadn't been back since she was twelve, but her father had never sold the place.

It remained.

The trees, huge Western sycamores (_platanus racemosa, _she could imagine Crews saying) lined the road all the way up, their soft green leaves wet and shining, so entwined over the graveled drive they created a canopy, were thrashing in periodic gusts of wind and trembling with the force of the thunderstorm. The huge boulders that sat at the start of the drive up to the house were weather beaten, craggy things, pitted and wind-hewn. This had not been her father's house, it had been her grandfather's.

Jack's family's.

But Grandpa Reese had willed it to Jack and it was theirs.

She pulled into the driveway and her headlights illuminated the crisp white garage doors until she shut them off and sat there, shaking, her eyes closed. Reese felt dizzy again and her breath came in bursts as she turned the engine off. She felt sick, too, like everything was tilting. _I should have let Crews come with me_. Where the fuck was that spare key?

She was getting soaked again and kicked at the front steps until she heard a soft metallic _ting_ as the key popped free. That was her father, always prepared for goddamn lost keys. Reese drew a breath and squeezed as much of the water out of her hair she could before opening the front door.

Her aunt still had the place cleaned regularly and it smelled like _Fabreeze_, something tropical, something Crews might like. Reese drew her gun and swallowed over a wave of nausea, breathing hard as she checked rooms. She swallowed once more and blinked as her vision fuzzed. Reese paused at the top of the stairs sluggishly, her fingers tight against the banister as her gun fell.

_Oh God_, she thought, _fuck me. This is. This isn't right._

Rolling cramps hit her stomach and she had to cling to the railing just to stay upright. Her fingers scrambled for the phone. _Crews._ Her phone fell, joined her gun in the way it clattered down the stairs. There were arms around her.

Thick arms.

_Not Crews_, she thought hazily, but they didn't let her fall. _Drugs? No. _Not drugs, not anything she'd taken.

"Dani," a voice whispered; soft, male, Russian. "_Shhh_. It is time to remember. I remember." She struggled and the arms around her closed, trapping her. "No, no, no. Listen. Listen to me. I can help. I know you feel it. You feel it now, how it comes for you. The poison." She fought until the cramps stopped her, left her panting. "Shh, shh. I have to clean it up. Roman. He told me, long time ago, I must clean all things up."

There were fingers against her cheek, pulling her hair back (itched, but she couldn't move). The darkness shifted, tilted as she was lifted bodily. So tired. _Can't move. God, Crews, you should have come. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, you were right_. The whispering was back and her hair bobbed as she watched her gun and phone disappear into the darkness. They were moving through the house so quietly there wasn't a creak. Reese blinked, then sighed as the cramps eased. Her frantic scrabbling did nothing.

_Wait. Just wait. Wait for it. There's always a moment._

"I thought she was you, at first. I've been following you. Everywhere, I see you. The same face, same pretty face. But I knew. I give you a piece, I give you something, answers, maybe. Maybe you want to know answers. I gave you case to work, art-form. Had to kill man first, less perfect, messy. He look like your partner -- I follow them for two years, know them. I think of everything. This is smart thing."

Her head lolled back against his powerful shoulder and she had to close her eyes.

"Why?" she whispered raggedly.

"I am cleaning," he said, voice soft. God, she was fuzzy. "No. No. No falling asleep. Come," there was a bed against her back, the smell of something strong, sharp, bitter against her lips. "You drink. _Drink_. You be better. I saw you, Dani Reese. You were Little Dani Reese then. I sat beside you in the car, that day."

Lightning licked out and his face was starkly clear. She let out a soft, low sound. She knew those eyes. They were as green as the leaves outside, flecked with brown. What day?

_What fucking day was he talking about?_

"You were twelve, yes?" came the prompting whisper. "They told you lies. Let go. Let go. I show you the way. I take you there. We go see docks. I think we go see docks." The dock. The long, long pier-like dock. Reese felt them moving as she tried to struggle, her brow furrowed as she gasped at the sudden cold shock of rain.

There was just rain and the heat of the man whose voice she knew, whose eyes were familiar. The long dock came into view and she--

She was--

_Twelve years old, sitting on the dock at Arrowbear Lake, the hot summer air on her face making her swimsuit stick as she kicked at the water with too-short legs. Her father's footsteps made the floating dock list and creak. His eyes always scared her when he had a beer in his hand, but there was no beer this time and he was clear-eyed. She watched him move, compact, powerful. He had the stride of a cop and she thought if she could do anything, she wanted that dangerous walk, the one that told people to make room._

_Jack Reese sat down next to her and stared out at the blue expanse of the lake for awhile and didn't say anything. She didn't either, she knew better. He had mean hands, her father. And sometimes they didn't follow his words because 'I love you' wasn't supposed to follow through with a fist. You weren't supposed to do that. There were men standing at the long end of the dock, way back toward shore and she watched them at the same time she watched her father._

_"Dani," he finally said. "You're going on a trip."_

_She was going on a trip, with men who looked like wolves. Dani was silent, still, blinking up at her father with a serious look on her face. She was going on a trip and her mother was shaking (she could see it, the way she wrung her hands, and the flinch as one of the men snapped at her)._

_"Why?" she asked. "I thought we were on one of those."_

_"Do as I say," Jack said, his voice dangerously soft. "Get up and walk back to shore, take the red bag from your mother and get into the gray car. And don't stay a goddamn word. If you do, you'll wish you were never born, do you hear me?"_

_"Yes sir," she murmured and rose._

_"And Dani?" She turned back to him. "I love you."_

_Dani kept walking._

He never meant it. Not really. If he'd meant it, nothing would have happened, but something did. It was blank. Blank like the pieces she couldn't remember about Roman. And when she'd come home, everything had changed. She'd changed. He'd changed, too. That was when he'd started breaking her. Sometimes he was okay. Gruff, stern, but he managed to be a dad. Sometimes he brought her things.

A necklace, a bear, a book.

But most of the time, he brought her nightmares. And she'd tried to love him for the good parts, but the ugly things would always creep in. She felt them rocking forward, the green-eyed man's gait steady in the wind, her hair slick, soaked with rain. She wasn't cold. He hummed softly, rocking her.

"I promise," he murmured. "I make pain stop." She took a short breath in. "All these years, Dani Reese. All these things you do. The drinking, the drugs? The sex? All these things I make clear. You remember Roman. Tiny twelve year old Dani Reese."

_Oh God. Oh God, why? Why did you do that, Jack?_

"Remember."

And she did, it was like the earth opening.

_Someone was talking in low Russian, his accent thick. A man whispered, his eyes a cold blue-gray as he looked her over, tilting her chin this way and that, humming under his breath._

_"This girl, she have good look," he said in a quiet voice. "Maybe I keep her, yes? What you say, Mister Rayborn? She nice. Give me good time. I make proper monies from this one. Top dollar, if I do keep her. I like the look. Pretty, pretty girl."_

_"Now hold on right there," Rayborn said, tsking softly. "You know full well who she belongs to and why that's a very bad idea."_

_"What? She has good legs, nice hips. All that hair." His eyes were flat but clear. "We have deal. If he does not do it right, I get her?" The man called Rayborn frowned. "Maybe I get her anyway."_

_And they were gone only to be replaced with nothing._

Jack Reese said he loved her and then handed her over to the Russian mob. It had been a week, vaguely, she remembered it had been a week. A week in Hell, a week she'd forgotten. A week with a man named Roman. If her father had loved her, he wouldn't have let that happen. Would he?

"Yes," it came as a hiss. She realized she was talking, talking out loud. "I do this. I set you free." Reese closed her eyes again and could hear the slapping of the lake water against the dock and the loud whooshing, rattling sound the trees made.

A week.

She'd been gone a week and the week after that had been a blur. Her father said she'd fallen. Broke her leg. Her arm. The cuts and slices had healed quickly the way she always healed, but the nightmares began. The running ones with the dogs. Snarling, snapping dogs and the high keening sounds that never really faded. Some were cats.

Some weren't. Some were people, she was sure of it. In the nightmares it--

_It was cold in the dark, but warmer in the sun. There was a shaft of sunlight that poured through a hole in the roof. A woman with pale green eyes sang in Russian, in the dark, while a scream rang out. She faltered and kept singing, her voice sweet. Dani closed her eyes and imagined the lake with its warm water and her mother's face. Several other woman started to join the first until the sounds of the dogs and the screaming were drowned out._

_And there was just sound._

_Just sound and the sunlight streaming down from that godforsaken hole until someone pulled out a gun and started shooting. Then it was red. There was an awful lot of red._

_And the noise stopped. The screaming stopped. Time stopped. Someone was whistling at the far end of the room, then humming. She opened her eyes and was surprised to see only one woman dead. She'd been shot straight between the eyes and her pale, pale green eyes were wide, her mouth a tiny 'o' of surprise._

_Dani sat there, still and quiet, barely breathing, just staring at the dead woman._

_"Why you go make me shoot her?" The man in white said. "Now? Now I have body. Girls, girls, you have such pretty voices but I did not say 'sing'. Did you hear me ask? No. I think not." Someone started crying and it wasn't Dani. "Okay. Okay. Be quiet. You? And you. Come, clean up mess."_

_He knelt in front of Dani, his face serious as he studied her._

_"Little Dani Reese makes no sounds?" he said softly. "This does not scare you?"_

_She said nothing and he laughed. And kept laughing and walked off laughing._

_"I like this Dani Reese," he said, gesturing to one of the larger men with a rifle. "I think I like her best. You bring her to me. No telling Rayborn. You bring that one to me." _

_She remembered darkness. The whooshing sound of something fast passing, steam. She remembered walking for awhile and then the big man with the gun carrying her. She remembered later, being very sleepy, and very sore. She remembered blood, too, and the bath._

_Hot, clean water._

_A woman humming softly under her breath, her dark eyes filling with tears, cleaned her up, made sure nothing was broken. Dani didn't cry. Her father had always told her nothing could be solved with tears, so she didn't cry. After all, she'd broken her ankle the year before and her father had made her not cry. This wasn't so bad._

_Pain was pain. That's what he said. Pain was pain and pain was survivable. It was life. And she could survive anything. She survived, later, too, when things broke. _

She remembered.

Her father had given her to the Russian mob as insurance. She'd been-- God. Rayborn had pulled her out. He'd pulled her out of Hell, bundled her up in blankets. There'd been yelling and she remembered being numb. Her mother screaming, hitting her father over and over and over. That look his eyes. That look where he shut down and never came back.

He'd sent her to Hell.

"He sent you to Hell," the green eyed man whispered, echoing her thoughts. "I am Dimah." His lips brushed her cheek. "Roman. He make us do things. Brought you to me, Dani, he did. I did it. I find you. I watch. I make it end. I clean it up. I clean."

He was rocking her, then moving to the end of the dock, and all she could do was shake, her eyes wide. Her fingers fell against his left pocket as he shifted her, licked his lips, still muttering. _Crews._ There was. There was something in his pocket. Long. Slender.

A knife. _God, let it be a switchblade. Be a switchblade. This is the moment. This one. This is the moment._ She heard it, a high keen, _Crews, the dock, come to the dock, that was Crews, that was him_, the siren was screaming closer, tires on gravel. Dimah jerked and her hand darted into the loose pocket. _It was. It was. Find the button, find it, quick! _

_There. _

Dimah jerked in surprise, cursed.

"REESE." His voice was fire, angry, afraid. God, there was so much fear.

_Crews. That was Crews. _

_ThatwasCrewsthatwasCrewsthatwasCrewsthatwasCrews._

"REESE!" Desperate. Too far away. He was too far.

There was the sound of gunfire. Two shots. Dimah fell, but instead of releasing her, his arms tightened. The water swallowed them whole and she held her breath as she tried to struggle free.

Dimah floated away, dead.

And Reese drifted, disoriented, her limbs heavy and unresponsive. There was light somewhere. She could hold her breath. She could hold it until he came to find her. Maybe she could hold it forever. _Crews_. Something hit the water hard and she felt his arms pull her in. Her chest spasmed and her eyes went wide as she jerked, trying to hold it until they broke the surface. When they did, she gasped and he was talking. He was just talking. He didn't stop talking.

He never stopped talking.


	9. Legends & Deliverance

Reese.

She was cold, she was so cold. So light. She could float away and then he'd never get her back and then what would he do? What would he do? _Shore. Get back to shore, give her the antidote. Give it to her. Stop talking. No! Don't stop talking, gotta keep talking. She's there, she's there, can hear you. Keep talking, you're good at talking. Just talk. Breathe. Think, the lab gave you the antidote. You have it. Gotta--_

"Reese," his voice was hoarse as he pulled them both up out of the water onto the dock and into the stinging rain. _Bad rain. It's a bad, bad rain, Charlie. Get moving. Get out of it, get out, gotta...gotta get out. Stay with me. Reese? Reese. _"Don't you go. Don't go. Don't leave me here, please...please, don't--"

He felt her fingers close around his wrist. She was there. God help him, her pulse was rapid, weak, but she was there. She wouldn't leave him. He'd shot the man, shot him twice. Once for taking her, once for trying to kill her. Now there was just the rain, the fight, he'd fight to keep her here.

_In the pocket. It was in his pocket. Injection. Stop the toxin. Gotta stop it. Pull it out, there, there. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Shh, shh, shh. I know, I'm sorry that hurt. It'll be better, it'll be okay. I'll make it better. Dani, Dani, don't leave me alone, you're not alone, I've got you. _

He cradled her against his chest, forced himself to cap the needle, to put it back, to pull her into his arms. And he was running, balancing them both on the tilting dock as the storm roared around them. There was no breath to talk, but he tried. Tried to explain, to tell her. He'd broken every traffic rule known to man, his siren on the whole way after the lab had called him, frantic. The blood she'd given had come up with traces of digitalis, just enough to work slowly, combined with more than a few other things to delay the spread of the poison. It was timed.

Timed.

They had no time, no more time.

The lab tech had gotten to work on the antidote immediately afterward and he'd swung by to get it. Running, flying, screaming through Los Angeles, his phone buzzing (Tidwell, didn't have time to answer it, didn't want to, couldn't). It took so long, too long, driving like he had nothing left, driving through the rain. The bad, bad rain that meant death was coming. He had to remind himself to breathe, to push the panic down until he was ice. Until he could think.

He found his Zen, found her, shot _him_, lost her, found her.

And he was running through the rain, his heart pushing her name out his lips. He slipped in the entryway, stifled a grunt as he hit the wall and went down with her in a messy pile that left him blinking, dazed for a few minutes. Nothing broken, just his shoulder throbbing. Reese was sprawled inelegantly across his chest and he could feel her breath against his neck, barely there.

Still alive.

Crews pulled himself together, shifted her back into his arms, and rose. There was a bathroom upstairs. He kept her close until the water ran warm, warmer, and filled the tub. He didn't like bathtubs, but it didn't matter, they both went in. He had to hold her up, keep her warm until she came back to him.

Her head rested against his shoulder as he tucked himself around her just to fit in the tub. Crews was talking again, softly, his breath even, his heart slowing.

"I won't let you fall but you have to come back to me," he murmured, closing his eyes as he shifted her dead weight against his chest. His fingers rested against her pulse, counting it out in his head. It was even, now, solid, and her shivering had stopped.

"Reese? Come home, it's okay. You can come home, now." His whisper was exhausted but his lips couldn't seem to stop. "Do you know anything about koi fish, Reese?" He thought her fingers twitched against his chest and he kept talking, his voice pitched soothingly. "There's a legend," he murmured, running his fingers through her wet hair, "that says if a koi fish can climb the falls at a point called Dragon Gate on the Yellow River, that's in China, the Yellow River...and it's not really yellow, the gods will transform it into a dragon. It's a symbol of courage. I think you're a koi fish, Reese, on your way to becoming a dragon. Maybe you're a dragonfish. I think you are. You're a dragonfish."

Crews paused to breathe and let his head drop back against the lip of the tub, his fingers still moving though her hair. She'd come home to him.

"Koi means something else, too," he mumbled. "The same kanji character that means _heart _is the one used in the symbol for koi. It means love, Dani. It means love." Crews closed his eyes and listened to her breathe, slow and even, matching his own now. Eventually, he pulled them both out of the bathtub when he was sure she was just asleep.

There was no Davis, now, so he was careful. He was so careful when he rubbed her hair almost dry, then wrapped her up in what was probably an old robe of her mother's. The beds were all made, the sheets changed (he looked, wondered why Caroline Reese would bother, was silently thankful), and he pulled down the covers of a queen sized bed and tucked her in. Crews was still wet, so he rummaged around and found a long robe that hit his thigh. It was better than being wet.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes closed, listening to the storm rage for awhile, then rose to go find her phone. He had a few quiet words with Tidwell and listened to the silence on the end of the line, then listened as the line went dead. Crews closed the phone and put it on the nightstand next to the bed and stood there for awhile, a hand in his hair as she stirred. He sat heavily, his jaw tight as her fingers closed around his wrist.

"..._Crews_," she said in such a tired, tired voice that he squeezed his eyes tight and his hand flew to his mouth. She was shivering again and he let out a breath before he curled himself around her. Reese's lips brushed his arm.

"Stay," she breathed, her body suddenly tight. "Don't want to be alone."

"I'm staying," he said, burying his lips against her hair. "You're not alone." He felt the tension ease and pulled the covers up around them. "I've got you. You're safe, it's safe here," he murmured, his arms firm, but loose enough for her to get free.

Crews kissed her temple gently and realized only then that tears were streaming down his cheeks. She tried to stir a little more and he made a soft noise.

"Shhh, go back to sleep, Dragonfish," it came out hoarsely, and he felt her laugh just once before she was asleep. "Everything will be just fine in the morning."


	10. Words

She woke to lips buried just above her ear, soft breathing, and warmth. Reese stayed as still as possible until a gunshot _crack_ of thunder woke him so suddenly the entire bed jerked. He rolled and came up, gun in hand, panting for a moment as he got his bearings.

"It's just thunder," she whispered. "That's all."

"Reese?" She heard his voice break and groaned softly as she turned onto her back. He tried not to hover, tried not to touch her, tried not to shake, too, but she could see him trembling. Reese stilled for awhile.

"Crews," she said very quietly. "Put the gun down." He didn't move and she eased herself upright, her fingers closing around the gun. "Crews," she murmured. His grip loosened and she pulled the nine millimeter free as gently as she could and leaned across him to put it on the nightstand.

There was just breathing for a moment, his and hers (overlapping, his still quick, hers faster than she might have liked), as she realized how close they were. Her fingers shook and the gun rattled until she released it. His breath caught and she pulled back a little, trying not to touch him. He mumbled something she didn't catch and her lips grazed his his jawline.

She tried not to shiver as her eyes found his. They stayed there, staring, studying each other like they were back there in his orange grove and she _needed_ him. His chin tilted slightly and she could see him trying to hide it, but she pulled it out of him until she knew where he was and what he was thinking. Her fingers brushed his cheek and he almost flinched until they settled lightly.

Another loud _crack_ of thunder hit and they both jumped. He was more rattled than she was and her fingers slid to the nape of his neck. She felt him take a breath and half pull away, then lean back into her, uncertain -- the most uncertain she'd ever seen him. He whispered her name once, soft, and she buried her fingers in his hair. Crews's lips found the join between her shoulder and neck as Reese drew in a hitched breath and turned her own against his temple.

There was silence as she shifted and his fingers found her hair, buried down deep.

"Charlie," she breathed.

"We don't have to talk about it," he said softly. She found herself almost in his lap. "We don't..." Crews blinked a few times and swallowed hard.

"We don't have to," she said just as quietly, pulling back to study him. "But you should know you killed the man who..." Reese leaned her forehead against his. "I was twelve, he was probably fifteen. Roman used us both. Turned Dimah into a monster. He showed--" Her eyes closed, then opened. "He showed him what to do."

She watched Crews's eyes turn to ice. Cold con eyes, killer's eyes.

"On you," Crews whispered.

"On me," she said very quietly.

"I should have taken my time. I could have taken my time, done it right. I could have. Could have taken out his legs," he muttered. He was thinking about his knife, about his hands, about what he could have done, should have done. He was thinking about Roman and the lines of his body were tight. Reese could read him, knew where he was. "I could ha--"

"Don't," she said so sharply he almost growled. "Don't go there." He was still there, still down there in the dark, _thinking_. "Crews." He was looking through her and she could feel his heart racing against her shoulder.

Her lips brushed his, hesitant, quietly desperate as she tried to pull him back.

"Don't," she whispered. "Charlie. Charlie, God, don't--" His lips were on hers, cutting her words off, drowning her in the taste of him. She heard him stifle a groan as he tried to pull himself away from her and couldn't. The tip of her tongue found his bottom lip and she felt him shudder, burying her name (_Dani_, she let him call her by her name, she let him because that was okay, it was right on his lips, felt right) down deep into her lips as his fingers tangled in her hair.

He wasn't sure where to put his hands, she didn't know where hers were supposed to go. It was awkward and fumbling until her hands found his skin. She stopped, pulled away to study him and he let her. The bullet hole where Bodner had nearly killed him was still reddish pink and she covered it with a palm, her breath shallow. She remembered the blood, Jesus, there'd been so much blood, all over him, all over her as she tried to keep it in him, and she'd lost him for a minute. She'd lost him. His hand sank against her hip, hot, so warm, and she found more scars, so many. She found all of them with her fingers, with her lips, and he closed his eyes and shook under her hands. Her fingers found his tattoos as well. The prison tatts that she pressed her lips against, the scars that her tongue soothed.

He let her, she knew he was letting her see him.

Charlie hid nothing from her until he was stripped bare and she could see who he really was. In his face, in his eyes, in his hands, and fingers, and legs. Cop. Con. Broken, God, he was so broken and his pieces were everywhere. Reese didn't flinch, she didn't run. She just took him in. She took all of him in, the good and the bad, and the sorrow, and the sun. She took him in and gave him everything she had, fit herself to him, needed him. Needed him, wanted him, wouldn't except anything less than all of him.

Her phone rang and she ignored it in favor of his lips and the feel of his hands burning up her back. Reese found out that he tasted like oranges and sunshine and blue sky and something sharper she couldn't pin down. Mostly sunshine. She found out he loved her hair, and that when she kissed him it was her hair that got in the way. The fourth time the phone rang they both threw it out of the room and heard it skitter noisily across the floorboards. It almost landed them on the floor and Reese cursed (he cursed, too, and flailed) in Farsi (told him he didn't want to know what it meant and when he insisted, he told her she was right, he didn't want to know).

He came back to her.

She came back to him.

They came back together.

"Don't leave me," she heard him whisper, mumbled against her chest, much later. For a moment there was fear again. "Don't leave me alone in this place. Don't you ever leave me alone."

Her fingers sank against his hair and she took her time running her fingers through it as they lie tangled together, her own hair tousled, messy. She wanted a drink, but she settled for soaking in his warmth. Reese thought about it for a long while, so long that he'd almost fallen asleep when she spoke.

"I'll be here in the morning," she murmured and then she was silent for a long while. "Charlie?"

"Mmn?" was his mumbled answer.

"What are we doing to do?" Her fingers drifted against his hair idly, a small frown on her face. She felt his lips curve into a bright smile.

"That's easy," he said. For awhile he stopped speaking and shoved himself up on an elbow to stare down at her. "We're going to _live_ and fight crime and I want to go to Tibet, I think we ought to go to Tibet, Reese. It could be your very first ever vacation. Tibet. Maybe we'll meet the Dali Lama. Maybe we'll find enlightenment. But mostly? We're go--"

Reese peered at him for awhile, her brows drawn just a little incredulous.

"Crews?"

Silence.

"_Charlie_."

"...say that again," he mumbled softly.

"Charlie," she whispered.


	11. Epilogue: Walk On

"You ready?"

Charlie Crews was standing at the window, watching a plane head out of LAX. Its landing gear folded up into its belly, sunlight reflecting off the metal. His eyebrows arched as her fingers brushed at his elbow. He was still watching the plane as it disappeared.

"C'mon, Crews," she murmured. He could hear the amusement in her voice and it put the faintest of smiles on his face.

"Hmmm?" The plane disappeared and he tilted his chin down to find her shoving coffee at him.

"You with me?" He took the coffee absently. "Tuning fork, piano player in the piano," she said pointedly. "Dead guy."

"In the piano," he said like someone had switched his light back on. He was still thinking about LAX, ticket pricing, wondering if he could sit still on that plane long enough. He could sit still for Reese. Couldn't he? How far away from here was Tibet? Wait, wait. He looked that up last night. It was twelve hours flying. Twelve hours in a box. He blinked, half grimaced.

Her fingers brushed his knuckles and he turned away from the window and back to the piano that looked like it had swallowed their victim of the day.

"That would be him," Reese said, covering something that might have been a smile in her coffee. It wasn't a smile, he decided. She was laughing at him. Quietly. Because she knew where his head had been. He watched her walk off, her strides covering the space between them and their case like she knew exactly how many steps away she was.

Maybe she did.

He just watched her for awhile, his eyes shadowing the way she tilted and finished her coffee in a long swallow. The way she snapped her gloves on and studied the scene with her mind wide open, seeing everything. He saw things, too.

He saw her pause to lean into the sun just for a second.

"Crews, you gonna fight crime or what?" she called and he was moving, moving toward his partner, wholly and completely in the moment.

Charlie Crews took out an apple and grinned.


End file.
